I’ve always fallen for the notion
that people make places,
that there is nothing special
about here or there,
not if the ones we call our own
are there to see it,
It’s you and I that breathe the words
which define a place.
Home is not a home,
Scenery isn’t scenery,
Not until we’ve called it so.
And just like that,
I think “somewhere” would essentially be
Not unless we had seen it,
Not unless it’s name had passed through our lips.
Are we moving pictures,
Silhouettes that float
Against the backdrop of the unknowable?
We try so hard to remember
And yet we’ve forgotten some of our stories,
Lost episodes whose fragments float aimlessly
As echoes in outer space.
When they’re heard,
If they’re heard,
I wonder if it will quicken the listener’s pulse
Or have we been so lucky to be one among few
To know of what words can do to the heart?
The future holds in its hands, nothing.
In the copious time I’ve held my gaze at it
All I see is this white place,
A docile sheet of paper laying on a desk.
Sometimes there are lines draw across it
As if tempting me to fill them with words I do not have.
Maybe that’s why I keep looking backwards,
And no, not in a simple glance over my shoulder either.
My entire being faces the past and everything it encompasses.
In it I see the riches of moments and the spoils of nostalgia.
It is quite a view.
So I turn 23 today, apparently.
It’s been a few years since I’ve written one of these self reflective pieces so I think I’ll give it a go this year.
Where am I at? I’m not quite sure. I remember saying something similar last time I wrote one of these. I wonder if it means I’ve not made any progress. I feel that much has changed but in such a way that nothing seems to have. I feel calm tonight and not even the sweltering heat of the Middle Eastern summer makes me feel restless. I’d like to think that this is due to song I’ve been listening to today.
It’s one that I saved to my playlist quite a while ago but today I decided to hear it again. It’s called “The Long Way” by this Irish band called The Coronas. I don’t know what it is about it but it’s the type of song that makes you feel nostalgic about the future. Is that even possible? When I listen to it I see myself, aged and grey, still trying my best to walk ahead of the people in front of me but I also see someone walking beside me. And somehow this memory, that doesn’t exist yet, transitions to a cool night where the wind is a temperature that’s kind to my skin and yours, whoever you are.
Maybe we’ll make a bonfire, who knows?
You are a gift
To my soul,
For you water it
With an essence
That only spills
From your lips.
You shimmer it
With a light
That doesn’t cast
and myself feeling
Just as safe
As if we were hiding
In the shade.
There you are again,
As I find myself back pedaling
Whilst you are turned aside.
We are heading
In separate directions,
Away from the end of something special
Well, maybe just for me.
But this is not the end,
I say it in my head
And politely ask it of you
In my imaginary voice.
You must be someone
Who’s come from above,
For as I thought this prayer
I swear you could hear it.
Inspired by the words of the wonderful, Himani 🙂
My search has me
Wandering in circles.
For years I’ve wondered
Why this is?
Why is it that we,
Who search for the wonder of love
Always seem to finish where we start.
Love seems to be the journey
To finding those first footsteps
We left in the sand,
All those years ago.
I’ll take less photographs,
capture more moments
with my eyes,
my ears and most of all
For what’s more memorable
than a feeling?
I’ll go searching for things
that quicken my pulse
and keep my eyes wide open.
I’ll sit and stare
for as long as the moment lasts
and then I’ll wait some more.
my fingers tiptoed across
a dusty map.
And every place it left an imprint
I brought myself there
hoping I might find you
my head hasn’t stopped swivelling
looking up at every high rise, every lit up window
searching for your face
in every place I’ve roamed
I find you, everytime
the place starts to feel like home.
you are always with me.
you are always with me.
No, I don’t know if
I can promise you trips to New York
Where we too can get tired
Of the people
As Joan Didion did,
And run from the East to the West
Clutching at feelings that fade away
The longer we stay put.
But I do hope I take you places,
Even when I have no clue which
They might be.
Just have your bags packed,
And keep alive that readiness to leave.